Some Like It Hot: Christian romantic suspense (Summer of the Burning Sky Book 3)

by Susan May Warren

Your dad did follow the rules—but he also followed his gut. He wasn’t reckless, but he wasn’t afraid to take risks.

  “We’re on our way back to the ranch. We’ll meet you there.” Riley hung up.

  Thorne stared at him.

  “I figure if Dad’s final mission was to get you home, I can’t stand in the way.” Riley offered his hand to Thorne.

  Thorne took it, his grip firm. “‘If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you…’”

  “‘I am that man,’” Riley said softly, the SEAL quote settling inside.

  “Yes, McCord, I believe you are.”

  Riley had washed his hands, his arm, changed into a shirt donated by Orion—olive green and faded, just a little small around his biceps—and now Riley sat on the seat of Larke’s truck, his face fierce, staring at the black cloud of doom that billowed across the horizon like the anger of Hades.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Larke said as she turned off the dirt road that led to Orion’s place and back onto the highway.

  She still had a little blood on her shirt from, well, it could be Riley’s blood. And a handprint of blood on her wrist—she hadn’t noticed that until she got in the truck. But she didn’t care. In fact, the sight of it did a strange thing to her emotions.

  She expected to be horrified. Or to flash back to the moment in the darkness when Freeman’s body finally sagged onto hers, trapping her in his lifeless embrace.

  Instead, as Thorne got up, as he pulled on another donated shirt from Orion, as he thanked her, she felt oddly healed. Knitted, ever so slightly, back together.

  Stronger.

  She glanced at the outlined imprint of Riley’s bloody hand on her, evidence of how he’d stepped up in front of her, despite his pain.

  How, in that moment, they stood as one, a fierceness rippling through him to her, steeling her.

  She wasn’t weak.

  But maybe she was stronger with Riley beside her.

  In fact, with Riley, maybe she could turn the page, find herself back inside the fence.

  Start over.

  No. What was she thinking? He was reckless and in his own words—he liked fire. And, apparently, especially when it involved protecting her.

  But one of these times it would backfire.

  He’d find himself bleeding out on top of her.

  “No, that’s not a good sign,” Riley said beside her and yanked her away from her thoughts. “Because that smoke means the fire is out of control.”

  Indeed. Way out of control. Because as she looked at Riley, the way his golden brown hair curled at the nape of his neck, the thatch of whiskers, the outline of his shirt, his lean body, and the way he could make her feel safe with just a look—yeah, inferno, right here in her chest.

  She tore her gaze off him.

  Oh boy.

  “We’ll get back to the ranch, and I’ll hook up with Tucker.”

  She wanted to tell him not to jump back in, but…oh…it might be like trying to tame the wind.

  “I’m sure they’re deploying reinforcements,” he said, his jaw tight.

  “I can fix up a tight dressing on that, tight enough to keep you together if you…want to…”

  He looked at her. “Jump?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I know you.”

  He blinked at that, and silence fell between them as he stared at her, those brown eyes on her. She was afraid to glance at him, afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

  After all, he had a terrible, unsettling ability to look right through her and find her truths.

  “I’m not going to jump in, Larke. You’re right. That would be foolish. Maybe I’m not quite as indestructible as I think I am.”

  She took a breath. Really?

  “But I will let you strap me up, because I have a feeling I’m not going to sit on the sidelines.”

  “Of course not, because—”

  “Please don’t call me a hero when I’m just doing my job.”

  She tightened her lips. Whatever.

  More silence between them. And she couldn’t stop herself. “Thorne is right. We’re all stuck, a little bit, in the valley between who we want to be and who we are.”

  “The terrible reality of living in the shadow of who we could be,” Riley said quietly. He finally looked away from her. “I always told myself that this was the way God made me. Reckless, impulsive, headstrong.”

  “Passionate.”

  He looked at her, and a wry smile tugged at his mouth. “Uh huh.”

  “And you told yourself that you weren’t anything like your dad. So you couldn’t possibly be a soldier, let alone a SEAL.”

  His smile died, and he nodded.

  “But according to Thorne, maybe you’re not so different.”

  He breathed in, out. Swallowed. Looked away.

  “I think you’ve believed less about yourself for so long, the idea that you could be more terrifies you.” And really, she couldn’t believe she said that, because…well, the words settled inside her.

  She’d told herself she was lost and broken.

  So, she became lost and broken. A blind person can’t lead themselves out of the darkness. You have to ask for help.

  She glanced at Riley. I can be more, if that’s what you need.

  She reached out her hand and touched his. “I don’t want to be stuck anymore.”

  His fingers curled into hers. “Me either.”

  “I…I think I want you to be more, Riley,” she said softly.

  He looked at her, and suddenly, emotion touched his eyes, something deep and stirring, and his gaze practically clung to hers. He nodded. Swallowed.

  “I just can’t handle it if…” She caught her lip. “Promise me you’ll stay alive?”

  “You mentioned something about a kiss?”

  She gave him a look.

  He grinned, but it was sweet, and he looked away fast, blinking.

  Look at that. Casanova McCord was a softie, deep inside.

  His hand tightened on hers then. “Larke, we have a problem.”

  She glanced over at him and beyond, to the smoke. And a fist slowly tightened in her gut. “That’s not just smoke—”

  “No. That’s live fire. And it’s headed—”

  “Right for Sky King ranch!” She put her foot down.

  “Gimme your cell phone,” Riley said.

  She worked it out of her pocket and handed it over. He dialed. Held the phone up.

  “It’s Riley,” he said. “I’m headed back to the ranch. It looks like—”

  Silence, and her periphery showed his jaw tightening.

  “Okay. Good. How about any reinforcements?”

  More silence and she glanced again beyond him to the flames shooting now and again, bright tongues through the canopy of black. The fire seemed caught in a valley maybe a mile or two from the ranch, but as she turned onto her road, it appeared perilously close. The cloud rose at least a mile into the sky, blotting out any view of the mountains, and the air thickened, sooty and redolent with an acrid odor.

  She pulled up beside the Sky King ranch van.

  Riley tucked the phone against his shoulder and got out.

  Larke cupped a hand over her eyes, searching for the chopper. The plane sat on the runway.

  Riley came up beside her. “Everyone’s okay. Apparently, Tucker and the others are getting picked up at Alicia’s so that your dad can fly in with the chopper and rescue the team.”

  “That fire is headed right for our house.”

  “I know.” He reached out then and curled his arm around her neck, pressed a kiss against her forehead. “I saw a bulldozer in your barn. Please tell me it runs.”

  “It runs.”

  “Good. Then do your magic, Doc, because we have work to do.”

  Eight

  He’d never claimed to be the best strategist, but Riley had paid attention during training.

  He knew how to cut a dozer line. Wide and deep enough to slow the fire, which would
allow reinforcements to lay down a wet line.

  And save Sky King ranch.

  Riley anchored the line to the dirt road that led to the landing strip behind the house and cut along the airstrip all the way down to the lake. As the fire approached, the wind kicked up and the swirl of cinder and ash thickened, the fire beyond the foothills thundering.

  Riley kept his head down. Dirt and dust plastered his sweaty face, the rumble of the dozer cutting into his bones, jarring his wounds. But Larke had bound his shoulder tight around his ribs, up over his collarbone, practically creating an upper body cast.

  Then she’d fetched a fire shirt for him from his extra gear he’d left at the cabin and rustled up a handkerchief, a hard hat, and a pair of gloves.

  By the time a black SUV pulled up, pouring out Tucker and Skye, along with a handful of tagalongs, he’d cut a half mile of thick, solid fire line.

  Tucker ran out across the runway, and Riley cut the engine. The dozer shuddered to a stop.

  Without the engine noise, the roar of the fire chewing its way to the ranch could deafen them. He climbed off the dozer. “Where’s the team?”

  “On their way. They had to evac—found refuge in the lake at the Boy Scout camp.”

  Riley didn’t want to imagine the fight—and the escape—to the camp. “Are they okay?”

  “Yeah. Barry is picking them up. Good job on this line. The BLM is sending in a tanker from the Fairbanks fire—it’s nearly out—”

  “It’s about time,” Riley said, none too nicely.

  Tucker nodded. “I know.”

  “Skye—she’s okay?” Please.

  “Yeah. And the guy back at the house—his name was Pope. He is—was—the head of the Russian mob in Alaska.”

  Riley stared at him. “What—?”

  “It’s a long story, but—what happened?”

  Riley looked beyond him and spied Larke talking with Skye and one of the other— “Hey, is that Rio? The prisoner?” The tall, dark-haired man was stalking out toward them.

  “Yeah. He’s actually FBI. What happened with Pope?”

  FBI. Huh. Riley turned back to Tucker. “This Pope guy was waiting for Darryl—who apparently was also one of the prisoners—please tell me you got him.”

  “Oh yeah. That was Rio’s doing.”

  Who looked a little edgy, wearing the soot from the fire, reddened eyes, and not a little fierceness in the way he ran up to Riley. “You—were you the one who killed Pope?”

  Riley lifted a hand. “Step back there, bro. No—it was this other guy, Orion. Pope was going to kill us, thank you, and Orion just—well, anyway, he was there. It was an accident.”

  Rio raised an eyebrow.

  “Later, guys,” Tucker said. “We need to get out of here—the planes are coming in with slurry drop.”

  As if on cue, the low drone of a bomber plane hummed in the distance, and Riley turned to make out a tanker headed along the horizon.

  And just in time because the fire lipped the foothill, torching across the treetops, hurtling toward the ranch. Cinders streamed out like advance fighters, dropping into the meadow and lighting the grasses.

  Tucker lifted his radio as they turned and jogged toward the house, directing the bombers to lay down the wet along the dozer line, into the green.

  In the far distance, the heartbeat of the chopper thumped the air. Riley reached the porch of the lodge and from the safety of the overhang, turned, watching the slurry drop. Mud splashed down, a waterfall of red made up of water, ammonia sulfate, and clay.

  “Hopefully it’ll slow the fire down,” Tucker said.

  Rio stood beside him, watching. “I don’t want your job, ever.”

  Tucker grinned at him.

  “Riley!” Skye had come around the side of the house. Bedraggled and dirty, her eyes lit with a sort of relief when she grabbed him around the neck. “We were really worried about you.”

  Really? “I was worried about you.”

  She let him go. “I’m okay. Rio was there, so…” She looked past him to the former, um, prisoner, like he might be her knight in shining armor.

  Huh.

  The dark-haired female marshal—Stevie?—came up behind her. “Riley, right?”

  He nodded and met her hand. “You caught them? Darryl and that March guy?”

  She blew out a breath. “Yeah. March is dead, but we still have one more fugitive. A Logan Thorne—or at least that’s his current alias. When we ran his prints, we found them connected to a soldier by that name killed in Afghanistan three years ago. His prints alerted to an Interpol watch list—the guy is wanted in connection to an international assassination.”

  Riley raised an eyebrow, what he deemed was an appropriate reaction to the news. Kept his voice neutral.

  She, however, eyed him. “You didn’t happen to come across him?”

  “You mean aside from fighting a fire with him?”

  She stared at him. Gave a nod.

  “He was pretty quiet. Stayed to himself.”

  “He’s dangerous, Riley. If you know anything—”

  The chopper had landed on the far side of the house, and now a couple of the guys—Seth and Romeo—rounded the porch. Blackened faces, their yellow shirts nearly black, they appeared strung tight, bone weary.

  “Riley,” Seth said and met his hand. “Sorry.”

  The fire was blowing toward them, a massive line of flame that anyone smart would run from. Riley shook his head. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

  “It’s working,” Rio said, a disbelief in his voice. “The fire is dying at the line.”

  Cinders blew into the green, dying as they landed in the sodden runway. The blaze coughed up angry, blackened fury as it fought to live.

  “Good job with that line, Riley,” Tucker said. “Textbook. Good thing you were here.”

  Those words found fertile soil, dug in.

  “We need to get off this porch and into a safety zone. I suggest the lake.” Tucker was on the radio, calling for another drop.

  “The fire is cutting west—it’s headed around the lake.” This from Skye, and Riley turned, watching as the fire headed west.

  “It’ll run into that ridge,” Tucker said, pointing to the west, where the bald ridge edged the property.

  Except— “Larke’s house is beyond that ridge, right in the path of the fire.”

  And that’s when he realized— “Where is Larke?”

  He looked at Skye, at Seth, then Romeo, but they shook their heads. He dashed around to the front of the house, spied the rest of the team unloading gear from the chopper.

  He ran up to one of the Zulies. “Have you seen Larke?”

  Hanes. The man shook his head.

  And that’s when Riley noticed her truck was gone. He turned, cupped his hand over his eyes, but couldn’t see through the fog of smoke.

  But in his gut, he knew.

  He ran back to the porch, found Tucker coming off it. “Please tell me there’s another load of water coming in.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell the pilot to drop over Larke’s house.”

  Tucker looked at him. “Listen, we need the water to slow it down here. The ridge will stop—”

  “Larke is at her house!”

  Tucker stilled, his expression stricken. Yeah, well that’s how Riley felt. “Are you sure?”

  Um…

  Tucker handed him his phone and Riley swiped it up and dialed. Please, please—

  “Hello?”

  He didn’t even bother to school his voice. “Larke, what the— Are you at your house?”

  A pause, then, “I have to save it, Riley. I’m just spraying water on it—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! The fire is coming around that side—you have to get out of there!”

  “I have to save my house!”

  He imagined her, a handkerchief over her face, the smoke thick, blinding her. She probably had no idea how close the fire ran. He cupped his hand over
his eyes, but the smoke had thickened over the lake. She probably couldn’t even see the road if she tried to drive.

  “Larke, drop your hose right now and get to the lake.”

  “Riley—”

  “Now!” he thundered, not even bothering to hide his panic.

  “No. It’s my house—”

  “It’s your life!”

  “No! I’m fine—I don’t need you, Riley. I can do this!”

  “Larke—”

  “Stop trying to protect me—”

  She started coughing.

  He wanted to reach through the phone and throttle her.

  “Get to the lake! Right now. I’m coming to get you!”

  She was still coughing.

  “Larke!”

  The line cut off. “Larke!”

  He wanted to throw the phone. Tucker ripped it from his grip.

  Riley grabbed Tucker’s shirt. “You gotta redirect the plane—!”

  “We have another drop coming but if we don’t throw it down here, we lose this fire and it keeps heading south, right into the town of Copper Mountain. She’s smart, Riley. She’ll get to the lake.”

  Riley ground his molars, gave Tucker a hard look, and let him go. Spotted Barry jogging out past the house to the hangar.

  The chopper.

  Riley took off toward the hangar and reached the man just as he was climbing into the cockpit of his Otter.

  Riley grabbed the door. “I need a ride!”

  Barry frowned. “I’m just moving the plane.”

  “In the chopper—I need a ride to Larke’s place.”

  Barry stared at him, his eyes widening.

  “Yeah, she’s there.”

  The man aged a decade before his eyes as he stared out across the field, toward the lake, now clogged with smoke. His voice turned whisper thin, almost a gasp of horror. “I can’t fly the chopper through that clutter.”

  Riley took a breath, nodded. And the answer was easy. “Then drop me in.”

  Barry looked at him. “You can’t see where you’re dropping. You know you could land right in the fire, right? Larke’s smart. She’ll get to the lake.”

  “I have more control in a ram—besides, what do you want me to do? I called her—and got cut off. She’s determined to save her house.”

  Barry looked back at the horizon. The flames flickered up through the smoke and turned the lake an eerie, deep crimson. “Get your gear. I’m firing up the engine.”